Fog
by: Ismira Daugene

Chapter 1: Abduction

"John we need you!" Sarah Sawyer pleaded to her employee as they stood beside the appointment desk. "Don't make me order you."

"That would be blatant abuse of your authority," John smirked as he looked over the chart for his next patient.

"And?"

"And we wouldn't want that to happen, now would we?" he glanced up at her smiling.

"So you'll do it then? It is for a good cause after all."

"Yes, I know. I was here last year for the event if you recall."

"Thank you, John! You're a lifesaver! After Murray dropped out… well anyway, thanks," she patted his shoulder and moved off to cover her own patients.

John Watson shook his head and let out a sigh. Sarah had promised him last year that he wouldn't have to do this again, but it appeared that she'd forgotten the incident last year involving a table cloth and a candle. It hadn't technically been his fault, but in all honesty it couldn't entirely be said that it wasn't his fault either. Either way, it seemed John would have to brush off his old suit and make an appearance at this year's hospital benefit where all of the generous donors to the hospital would be wined and dined and the doctors and nurses showed their gratitude by being the wait staff.

Tucking the clipboard with the chart and blood work analysis under his arm, John made his way to room 2B where his next patient awaited him as well as to hear the news that he was positive for gonorrhea… this promised to be a wonderful afternoon. John shook his head and opened the door. "Henry…"

: : : : :

"Okay, Celia, George, Vicky, Heather, Peter, Mels, and Rick you're all to take orders and bring the food out. Charles, Grahm, Beth, Frank, and Ella, you'll be bussing tables. John, Rachel, Arthur, and Sam will be our sommeliers tonight. Everyone got it? Good! Let's get out there!" Sarah finished her short pep talk and the doctors and nurses who'd volunteered marched off to go about their duties. John noticed that she hadn't given him a very taxing job. A bit of an apology, he supposed, for being forced into this at the last minute. Following Arthur from cardiology, John made his way over to the doors to start taking people's orders for wine.

Three hours and twenty-eight minutes later, John was starting to think that sommeliers had the most difficult job of the lot. Not only was he to bring wine out to tables one through five, but he had to know which wines were available, what dishes they went well with, which were better chilled, not to mention remembering who had ordered what. On top of that he'd already spilled wine on his suit twice – luckily only dribbles onto the black part of his suit – and he'd broken three crystal glasses when he'd tripped over some old codger's cane.

It was getting on towards the end of the night luckily, and John was counting the minutes until he could go home, get out of this ridiculous suit, and take a nice hot shower. Of course, that was right about when the night decided to get even worse. John had just grabbed a chilled merlot, a pinot noir, and a white zin to take out to table three. He was weaving his way across the room, concentrating on his footing through the maze of tables. The low lighting didn't help matters. It was then that a man at table seven backed his chair up and stood all in one fluid movement and completely unaware of John right next to him. The tall dark haired man had a scowl on his face and looked to be leaving, but was stopped abruptly when John collided with him, spilling the wine all over the man's fitted three piece suit. John stood with mouth gaping. The man's fine white shirt was now splotched with purple and if he'd been scowling before, it was nothing to what he was doing right now.

John stumbled backwards a bit. "I'm sorry, sir. Truly, I am!" he attempted to apologize.

"You insolent fool," he growled. "One would think a surgeon, a former army surgeon at that, would have a bit more grace. Apparently not though."

John stumbled back even more at the sound of an actual growl leaving the man's throat. Just his luck… he had to spill wine on one of the werewolf elites! John had a momentary flashback to primary school where they'd learned all about the werewolf elites and their place in society. He could distinctly remember Mrs. Honsey tell them about how the elite had taken their place in London's society centuries ago. Some had even joined the government and had helped to create laws regarding biting humans. Thanks to them, it was illegal for a werewolf to turn a human unless it was heat week and the human was a potential mate, or the human had submitted a detailed application as well as the one thousand pound fee and was accepted by the board after blood and psychiatric tests. There were some humans who desperately wanted to be werewolves because of illness such as epilepsy that the bite could heal. The bite had also been reported to heal certain people of cancer, though that was rare and the cancer had to be in the early stages. Of course some humans wanted to be changed simply because they thought being a werewolf would be a preferable life.

"Sherlock," a low voice from behind the tall dark haired scowling werewolf warned.

The werewolf, Sherlock apparently, stopped growling and straightened as though realizing that he was making a scene. He gave John a once over, sneered then marched away. John let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding and moved to fetch a broom and a mop for the three broken glasses. However he was held back by the other man who'd spoken. "I hope you don't take offence to my brother, Doctor Watson."
John turned to see a slightly balding man in a dapper suite. "It was my fault, sir. I probably would've been angry too had someone spilled wine on my nice suit," John attempted a weak smile, wondered how the man knew his name, then remembered he was wearing a nametag.

The man returned the smile, though it was laced with curiosity. "I'll give him your apology then, shall I?"

"Yes please, I truly didn't know he would stand up so suddenly like that."

"Very well then, Doctor Watson. I'll accept your apology on behalf of my brother."

"Thank you, sir. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

John walked back to the kitchens, and once in the door turned to lean against the wall next to the cleaning supplies closet. He took several deep breaths and closed his eyes for a moment. Obviously, someone had it in for him for these kinds of events. This night was just as bad as last year's event. "John? You okay?" Sarah's voice broke through his thoughts.

"Yeah, just fine. Had a lovely encounter with a werewolf elite just now though," he opened his eyes to see Sarah standing in front of him, her black dress hugging her slim figure.

"Oh?" her face took on a worried look.

"Nothing to worry about, just spilled wine all over his suit."

"Oh my gosh, John! Was he furious? Did he hurt you?"

"Yes, and no. He was angry to be sure, but I think he was angry before I spilt the wine on him. And no, he didn't hurt me."

"Well that's good at least," her face relaxed a bit. "Hey, it's getting a bit slower now. I can have Rick take over for you if you wanted to head home?"

John pretended to deliberate for a moment before saying, "You know, I think I'll take you up on that offer."

Sarah smiled and nodded. "Right, have a good evening then, John. I'll see you Monday."

John nodded and turned to grab his coat from the employee entrance before heading out the back door. He wasn't two steps from the door though before someone was pushing him violently up against the brick wall. The air was pushed from his lungs as he landed and struggled to regain his breath. His front was against the wall, so he couldn't see who had him pinned, but whoever it was, was quite strong. "Such interesting creatures, humans," a familiar voice breathed into his ear.

John sucked in a breath as he realized that it was the werewolf elite he'd spilled wine on. "Look, I'm sorry, really I am," he tried apologizing, but the lycanthrope only shoved him again so the air was pushed from his lungs.

"Most humans are so bland, dull, and easily frightened," he continued as though John hadn't said anything. "But not you… no. You're scared right now, yes, but not as much as you should be. Afghanistan or Iraq?"

John struggled to free himself, but the werewolf, Sherlock, just pinned him against the wall even harder, one hand holding John's wrists behind his back, the other pressed in between his shoulder blades to keep him in place. The werewolf's question hit him then. Why did he want to know? How could he know? "What?" he asked still trying to work a hand free.

"I dislike repetition, human. Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Afghanistan! But how did you…?"

"Know? I didn't know, I observed. And once again, you exhibit an unhealthy lack of fear of me."

"I'm sorry that I'm not afraid of you? Is that what you want me to say?" John grumbled, becoming more and more annoyed at this presumptuous werewolf.

"No, of course not," he muttered.

Silence filled the alley for a full minute. The werewolf leaned in close and inhaled deeply right next to John's exposed neck. The former army surgeon shivered and tried to lean away, but there was nowhere to go. "So are we just going to stay like this, or what?" John finally asked, annoyance and a bit of anger leaking through in his tone.

"No, I think we'll be going now," Sherlock answered.

"We? We aren't going anywhere together!" John protested vehemently, struggling to free himself.

"You don't think I'm going to let you go home now? Not when you present such an interesting mystery?" Sherlock whispered in his ear.

John shivered again. He could almost hear the smirk in that whisper. "I don't want to hurt you, just let me go now," he replied trying to put some force behind his words, and thinking of how he used to get out of tough holds on the rugby pitch.

Sherlock chuckled a bit before answering. "If you were capable of hurting me, you would have done it before now."

"Not all of us humans are so violently inclined."

"Even still… a human out powering a werewolf? It's unheard of!"

"There's a first time for everything," John growled.

"Not tonight there isn't. I apologise in advance for the mark this will leave, but it's necessary."

"What?" John asked before a sudden sharp pain blossomed along his right temple. He managed to keep consciousness long enough to feel strong arms wrapping around him to prevent him from falling. Then all went black.

Author's Notes: Okay! So new story! I recently held a vote as to what story I would be writing next (the voting material is still up if you would like to see it) and this was one of the winners. I have a few more chapters written out so far and a basic idea of where I want the story to go. Hope you guys like what you voted for!